Letters for personal catharsis

Ready to Deliver

Hmmm….I’m rolling my morning smoke and eyeing up my bag. Either I got up in the middle of the night and decided that a snack of fresh bud was a good idea, or my brother inadvertently rolled from my bag. OR…I really have smoked that much, in which case, bad on me! But I swear that’s not how I left it last night.

And HMMMM again! The tobacco pouch is practically empty! The plot thickens! Someone was smoking last night, and it wasn’t me. That leaves my brother or Santa Claus. And it’s not Santa’s season.

Last night I experienced a period of time when I didn’t think about smoking. Full out didn’t need it, didn’t want it. I found I was perfectly fine just watching tv without toking away. Last night’s 5th J was less than half smoked when I shuffled off to bed. I’m getting close to taking myself down to 4. Maybe I’ll experiment and see what that’s like today. No pressure. If I do it, great. If I don’t do it, great. But I sure as hell will be listening to myself, and if I don’t need it I’m not smoking it. Even if there’s a J waiting in my ashtray.

Yesterday didn’t include much to talk about. In fact, my afternoon ‘job’ was to watch a film on our digital recorder and delete it. We’d filled it up again to 98%. So that’s what I did: relaxed, watched a film. It felt like my engine was cooling down, and sleep hounded me for the rest of the night. Kept dropping off and jerking awake until my brother laughed and said I’d better just get myself off to bed. I got in 9.5 hours – that’s a record in the last 5 years at least, maybe 10. Maybe more. I don’t sleep well.

Getting pulled in twelve different directions this morning. Imagining myself tackling my dusty shelves, getting studio work done, my sit-ups, squeezing in a walk, and deep conditioning my hair. Plus I’ve errands to run outside: my lotto ticket, pick up more smoke because (ugh) I just emptied one bag, finally make that hair appointment. My head says go, go, go and my body says no, no, no. I’ll never get it all done. Frustrating old woman with RA body! Really ticks me off that I can’t keep up with myself.

Fly, fly, my thoughts. Winged creatures circling above me. They dive in and peck at my brain, sparking some idea that has nothing to do with anything, then leave. Fuckers.

Sometime today I’ve got to squeeze in 20 minutes of Dutch, too.

Whoa! STOP. Right. the fuck. now. I’ve ‘got to’?!?! No I fucking don’t! I’d like to, I want to, but I sure as fuck don’t ‘got to’. I don’t GOT to do any fucking thing if I don’t want to. It’s my choice. I can sit in my jammies and play games and toke up all my bud if I WANT to today. Stop using that language!

Right now, I honestly think the most important thing I could do for myself today is to lay down flat in the corpse position and try to reach that zen place. All the rest is secondary. All the rest will be EASY if I reach zen. My still point.

Don’t think I can. Don’t think I can reach it today. Too fast, too much. Don’t want to be here. My head…my head! Chop it the fuck off! Stop up my ears with headphones and blast some damned music so maybe it’ll drown out the incessant chatter, chatter, chatter.

Maybe that IS what I need. Music immersion. I’ve been avoiding it because turning on my music and the visualizer means toking, which I don’t want to do. But I feel like I need it today, smoke or not. If I really have toked up that entire 2 gram baggy in slightly over 24 hours I’ve got some deep shit going on that I’m not acknowledging. Something I can’t bring out, which would then be the driver in my racing thoughts. FUCK! Goddamn mother fucking BULLSHIT! I thought I was beyond hiding things from myself!!!

…So fucking frustrated with me right now…I’d choke the living shit out myself if I could.

Deep breath. Where is it? What is it? Surface crap, surface crap. You can’t kid me, baby! That’s not enough to send us off like a rocket. What’s wrong?

Silence. That question shuts my head up. Can I trust myself enough to say okay, maybe it’s hypomania or mania or just being jazzed up. Jizzed up. Whatever. Don’t know. I’ve hidden things from myself in the past. Nothing more world-tilting than having a repressed memory surface. Throws everything into question. I’ve only had two experiences of it, both from childhood and both remembered as I became a teenager. Is there something more? How could I even tell?

I need to get out of my head today. Get my hands dirty and tackle real world stuff. If there’s something cooking back there, it will eventually surface. That much I can trust on. If I try to push it out it’ll just sink further in and be harder to access. Let it go. Damn! I’m all tight in my spine right now. Fucking fuckity fuck.

Fine. That’s the title of my new song. Only it’s all in caps: FINE. Because that’s the way I generally see it when I say it – I’m FINE. Yeah. It’s pure sarcasm. Maybe it’s time to get that little gem going again. I’m in just the right frame of mind to give the lyrics a go today. I want this piece to capture my anxiety, to give listeners the same rushed and slightly overwhelmed feeling I get. It’s all got to come from vocal delivery..And baby, I’m ready to deliver.

Currently a final year English student at the University of Cambridge. Producing Intern for Fuel Theatre July-October 2016. Aspiring Arts Administrator/Theatre Producer, blogging about my projects (mostly).

#ActuallyAutistic - An Aspie obsessed with writing. This site is intend to inspire through sharing stories & experiences. The opinions of the writers are their own. I am just an Autistic woman - NOT a medical professional.